


Timing

by Godsliltippy



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godsliltippy/pseuds/Godsliltippy
Summary: Virgil and Gordon find themselves stuck under a bridge while they wait for the weather to calm.





	Timing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gumnut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/gifts).



> So this is technically for Gumnut, cause I said I should probably find someone else to whump other than Gordon. Virgil seemed like a logical choice :D 
> 
> Still ended up whumping Gordon too, though... :\ my B.

Everything feels wrong. More than just being stuck in the middle of a storm. A summer storm, with it's high winds and possibilities of generating tornados, was well into the first hour of Virgil and Gordon being stuck on the side of the road. Specifically, under a bridge at the radio’s warning of a cyclone in the area. John had confirmed it the moment the alert had registered.

 

What felt wrong was the fact that this was supposed to be their vacation. Their rare trip home to visit the farm. Virgil had been planning it for months, trying to find the best time the two of them could leave IR short two pilots. Of course, he would pick the one moment a horrendous storm would come through.

 

“Not your fault, Virge.” Gordon spoke from the passenger seat, foot tapping on the dash from sheer lack of activity while he thumbed through his tablet feed. How his little brother knew his frustrations was beyond him, the blonde not having looked up from the news scrawled across the device.

 

“I didn't say-” The knowing look from Gordon abruptly ended his denial, the smile soft as he set the tablet on the car's dashboard. “Well, I was the one who suggested we come out in the middle of tornado season.”

 

Gordon just shrugs, pulling out a pack of jelly beans from the center console. Technically, these were Virgil's, a ritual necessary for long car trips. He didn't protest as his brother tore them open and offered to shake a few into his hand, possibly as a way to comfort himself against the guilt. Popping a few into his own mouth, Gordon offered a bit of optimism. “These things blow over pretty quickly. Not like it's a snow storm or a hurricane.” That was true. Both weather disasters could leave them stranded and in danger for days, not hours. “Plus, when was the last time we just got to sit through one of these instead of trying to pilot your giant green ship through it?”

 

Virgil pushed a finger through the colorful array of jelly beans, picking out his least favorite to eat first and giving it a few chews as he listened. “True.” And it was actually pretty cool to just _see_ the storm in action. From the other end of the overpass, they could see a thick sheet of rain and sleet pelting the road, arrant leaves and debris blowing across it as the winds whipped around them. The intensity of it was almost beautiful. Too bad it would leave a scar over the environment. Hopefully, the local towns would go untouched.

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, Gordon retrieving his tablet and switching over to a game he'd left open. Virgil found his sketchbook, deciding that the view in front of then, though bleak, might be an interesting contrast to the beautiful sunsets and rises he was accustomed to drawing on the island. Charcoal seems appropriate, easier to illustrate the gloom of the storm while the negative space of whites and greys made up the rain that fell through their headlights. His overused eraser was making its way through the charcoal as the roar began its approach.

 

“Hmm.” Gordon dropped the game into his lap at the same time Virgil was tossing his supplies into the back seat. Their eyes were on the darkness behind them, an eerie red glow from the brake lights giving off the image of blood through the windswept rain drops. “John? You got eyes on this thing?”

 

The static that sounded from his younger brother's comm was disheartening at best, but understandable when stuck under a bridge with an F4 bearing down on you. Virgil was certain it was time to rethink their current hiding spot.

 

“Out?” Gordon asked, matching his brother's thoughts.

 

“Yep.” They didn't give it another moment, their doors flying open simultaneously, Gordon running to the trunk to retrieve the emergency kit. Flashlights, first aide, snacks; really anything that Brains deemed necessary whenever they were away from home. Virgil joined him, intent on making sure his little brother got what they needed as quickly as possible. Thankfully, his concern wasn't warranted.

 

The howl of the tornado was approaching deafening levels, his heart hammering in his chest as he realised just how quickly it had made it to their hiding place. Deceptive, these storms. Fast and ever changing as they made their way across his home state. He honestly hated them, but there was a part of him - the morbid little mite that would climb into his brain - that was intrigued by the power of them. As a kid, he and Scott would peek out the cellar doors, tasked with keeping an eye out on the horizon as the rest of the family made their way out from the house. On more than one occasion, Virgil had witnessed a cyclone, far off in the distance, making its way across the open fields, and been transfixed until his eldest brother tugged him into the safety under their home. As dangerous and deadly as they were, they could be beautiful.

 

Right now, though, beauty was not what first came to mind.

 

They were only a few steps away from the car when the first sign of the storm's carnage came barreling through. A tree, ripped out with the roots appeared from the dark void, its branches creaking in protest as it slid over the asphalt. Straight into the trunk of the car.

 

The sound of bending metal and splintering wood was almost enough to drown out the approaching roar. Wide eyes regarded the wreck for a moment longer, before they were running. Their destination was the little nook where the bridge and the incline met, providing the most cover for them.

 

Gordon was in front, right where Virgil wanted him to be. His job. Keep his little brother out of trouble. That was it. His one job.

 

And then Gordon was gone.

 

Virgil never hears it. Only sees the blur as something strikes the aquanaut. A tire. It's a tire that's been flung from the storm and slammed against his brother, sending him skidding across the pavement. Its soundless, but Virgil's ears are blaring alarms at levels they'd never reached before. Maybe it was because he was screaming. At the tire or his brother, he wasn't sure, but his feet were already taking him to the still form.

 

Injuries. Virgil was cataloguing them as he ran. The abrasions were obvious, but wouldn't be life threatening. Head injury, definitely, Virgil recalling the sickening bounce of the blonde hair. Broken bones, possibly, but there was no telling until he could lay hands on his brother. Internal bleeding, for the life of him, he hoped not. Not when they were stuck under a bridge in the middle of a tornado.

 

He was there, kneeling next to Gordon, who was awake, his eyes clenched tight and brimming with moisture, mouth open in a silent cry. He looked so small, fragile and Virgil was suddenly afraid to touch him for fear he might break farther. Instead, his eyes went to the object that had flown from the darkness. Still a tire, but without the center rim. The absence of the metal disc was a blessing he would gladly take. Otherwise, he didn't think he'd have a brother left to save.

 

More debris scrapped around them, more warnings that they needed to get to cover. Other than a gentle touch on Gordon's shoulder, there was no other way go warn the blonde of his plans to lift him. Hazy with the pain, amber peeked through lids that didn't seem to want to cooperate. Virgil bent down to his brother's ear and cupped it as he yelled. “Gotta move!”

 

To Gordon's credit, he nodded, but there was no move to comply, his head falling to rest on the ground. This would be all on Virgil.

 

The medic grabbed the supply bag that had landed not far and stood to sling it over his shoulder. Probably not the first mistake of the day, but later, he wouldn't remember what had lead him to stand in the first place.

 

A high pitched whistle joined the storms overbearing noise, and just as Virgil was preparing, physically and mentally, to stoop down and cause some significant pain for his little brother, it stopped. He would have been puzzled by the change if it weren't for the sudden, sharp pain radiating up his abdomen, freezing him to the spot. He stood for a long moment, bewilderment most likely what had to be playing across his face. His hand and his eyes met at the same time, his vision shifting as he looked at the thick pipe that lay buried into his right side. No blood. Not yet anyway. He found that thought odd and he looked up towards the nook that seemed miles away now. His hand had abandoned the front, shakily trailing over his back to find the other side of the pipe protruding dangerously close to his spine. But he could feel his legs. He could feel everything. Including the overwhelming chill of shock as his legs gave out and he crashed to the hard ground.

 

The cement was harder than he'd expected, but that was dumb. It was basically rock, crushed up and lain out to create a smooth drive through the flats of the Kansas countryside. Of course it was hard. And when had he gone vertical? This wasn't going to help him get out of the way. Of what? He couldn't quite focus on why it was important to move. Maybe if he opened his eyes? When had they closed?

 

Lids peeled back revealing the odd glow of headlights against objects that happened to lay in its path. Including Gordon. _Gordon?_ Virgil found himself painfully aware that his brother needed him, but that was the only thing making it through the encroaching fog of pain that was now radiating through his torso and back. He didn't want to move anymore. Didn't want to breathe since each intake sent sharp daggers through his gut.

 

Maybe Scott would come get them. He never passed up an opportunity to pull his brothers from the fire. But this wasn't a fire, right? This was… He quickly gave up trying to remember something that he knew he'd been aware of just minutes ago. There didn't seem to be a point as the numbness had made its way up into his brain, blissfully numbing the pain as he slipped away, feeling the solid grit of the pavement as he let the side of his head rest on it. He would just be out for a moment. Just a quick nap.

 

Heat was the first sensation to come back to him, the intensity of it forcing him to wince against the sunlight streaming onto his face. He didn't want to wake up. And certainly not to the humidity that surrounded him now. And pain.

 

Virgil blinked as the ache began to register, pulling him farther from the sleep he craved. This wasn't right. Why was his bed so hard? And hot? His abdomen pulsed as he tried to shift, sending a strangled cry from his throat. His breathing hitched, morphing into pained gasps as the _thing_ assaulting him made itself known. His hand found it a moment later, shakily running along the smooth metal and reminding him of what he had just been through.

 

A tornado. It was debris from an F4, which, now that his brain seemed to be coming back to him, should have easily ripped through him. Maybe it was the bridge affecting the wind speeds and greatly reducing the power of the- oh, no, it hadn't. He'd found the other end again. The other good thing was that the pole was still in place, reducing the likelihood that he would bleed out before help arrived. He began to wonder if John knew. Maybe he should call, just to be sure that someone was aware that he might be slowly dying under a bridge in Kansas with -

 

 _Gordon!_ “Gord-” Virgil was forced to hold back a garbled cry as he shifted just the slightest. He wasn't sure how he'd missed the bright oranges and yellows before, the still form of his brother laying just out of arm's reach. If the blonde had heard his call, he didn't acknowledge it. He tried again, trying his best to keep his voice even. “Gordon?”

 

Still nothing.

 

Panic began its assault, sending waves of adrenaline through his limbs and forcing Virgil to pull himself just far enough that he could press two fingers just under his brother's jaw. The beat was slow, but it was still a sign, along with the warm, claminess of his skin. Alive. Gordon was alive.

 

Not for long if they stayed here.

 

Virgil found his comm in his pocket, nearly passing out again from the searing pain that it sent through him to pull it out. “Th-Thunderbird 5?”

 

“Virgil! Thank goodness. What happened? We lost contact when the tornado jumped. Thunderbird 1 is in the area with Alan and Scott helping dig out a grocery store and some of the residential areas that were hit.” John's words seemed to be moving a mile a minute in his addled brain. “What's your status?”

 

Okay, that part connected. “Not good.” It came out as a wheeze. Probably not the best way to lead a conversation with his space dwelling brother.

 

“Virgil?” And this time, John's attention appeared to be geared solely on them, Virgil realizing his other brothers might be having need of TB5's sensors.

 

Start with the obvious. Injuries first. His brothers could find their location through the comms. “P-pretty sure -” He gulped in a breath. “Ah- impaled. Lower right abdominal q-quadrant.”

 

There was a pause and Virgil could imagine his brother's fingers already activating their GPS. “What else?”

 

“That's it - for me. Gord's - I don't- mmm- don't know. Unconscious. Blunt f-force. Took a - uh - a tire to his side.” That memory came back like a cannonball to his gut. Internal bleeding was screaming in his mind again. “How long- have we-”

 

Virgil didn't need to finish the question as John answered. “Hour and a half. Virgil, I've got EMS on it's way.”

 

Not Scott? Or Alan? No, they were needed in search and rescue, not triage. It made sense in his head, but it did nothing to quell the anguish of having to wait longer for his family. At least he still had - “John?” There might have been a slight quiver as he said the name.

 

“Right here, Virgil.” It was probably the softest he'd heard John speak. In a long time, at least. There was the time when they were kids and Virgil had tried to ride down Dead Man's hill on a bike they _thought_ they had rebuilt correctly. A broken arm and concussion later had informed them of how wrong they'd been. John hadn't actually been there when it happened. His friend Thomas had, and it was Tom who had found John at home with Grandma. The story was that the boy had come in crying and screaming that Virgil was dead. An exaggeration that had taken years off of their grandmother's life. John had sat with him, talking gently once he'd come to and letting him know everything would be alright. “You're going to be okay. Just rest.”

 

“So hot.” Why he was focusing on that was beyond him.

 

“The storms gone. Sun’s out.” He half expected the passive answer, but was glad for the succinctness of it. “It'll be a humid 86 degrees. You've been in worse.”

 

That was true. It didn't really make him feel all that much better, though. “N-not with a - mmm - a steel pipe in my stomach.”

 

“No, this is a first.” The sympathetic agreement was accompanied by the far off sound of sirens. How John had gotten them out there so fast would always be a mystery. Virgil was just grateful to hear them at all.

 

“Mmm..” He'd closed his eyes again, not thrilled to have his head resting on the slowly baking asphalt, but unable to keep it lifted.

 

“What was that?” And he could tell the edges of John's resolve were fraying.

 

“Can hear the amb'lance.” Words were difficult once fatigue really set in. “Just… mmm just wan’ to sleep.” Probably not his best idea right this second, but his body wanted to do its own thing. And who was he to argue. There was a six foot pole sticking out of him. He shouldn't have to think.

 

But even as he let his mind play with the thought of passing out again, his fingers found his brother's pulse once more. It was like a lifeline, keeping him tethered to the here and now. The EMTs would come and he would stay awake. He would stay and watch as they loaded Gordon onto a stretcher, similar to his own. They would be wheeled into the back of the waiting trucks and carted off to the local hospital for emergency surgery. What hospital was around here? Would they have to transport them to a more equipped facility? Would they be separated?

 

That last though sent his heart hammering again. He couldn't lose his brother. He was his responsibility and he'd already messed that up once today. Virgil was certain his big brothers wouldn't let that happen though. They would keep them together, even if that meant both would be transferred. It wouldn't matter and it wasn't something he should be all that worried about. Not when he's got the fog rolling into the corners of his vision. And certainly not when he finally succumbs to the inky blackness of the back of his eyelids as he’s lightly jostled by the smooth ride of the ambulance.

 

OoOoOoO

 

The thing about anesthesia, coming out of it is like waking from the best night's sleep you've ever had. Only, you've got about sixty-five stitches piecing you back together, sans metal pipe. So you get to feel rested, but groggy from the slow morphine drip the hangs beside you. Not always a fun experience.

 

The first thing Virgil sees is the side of Scott's head as he sits beside the bed, staring at something out of his range of sight. The younger brother can see the creases at the corner of his brother's eyes. Wrinkles. Scott's collecting them these days.

 

“Mmm-” It was supposed to be “hey”, but his dry mouth and throat were having none of it. It worked though, Scott's attention tearing away from whatever was in his hands.

 

“Hey, Virgil.” The relief was palpable. “How are you feeling? Want me to get the nurse?” He shook his head at that, wishing he could say what he truly wanted. “Water?” That earned the brunette a tired smile and thumbs up. “Hold tight, be right back.”

 

Wait, no. He didn't want Scott to leave! Even if it was to just get him some water. Maybe… his eyes scanned to the right of his room and found Alan on the other side, already making his way over around - another hospital bed? He didn't get a chance to look further, his baby brother- who hated being called that - filling his view as he took the eldest's vacated chair.

 

“Hey, Virgil! So glad you're awake.” The abundance of emotion-laden cheesiness was enough to make his smile widen a hair more, his hand finding Alan's and giving it a weak squeeze. He really hated worrying the kid. “Did you realize you had a sign post sticking straight through you?”

 

If it wouldn't hurt so much, he would have laughed. Instead, he offers a slight smirk and nod, gesturing to the area he could feel the slight pull of his skin, along with the dull ebb of pain.

 

“Of course, you do.” Virgil watched as Alan laughed while simultaneously catching a rogue tear as it escaped. Man, his little brother knew how to start the water works, a tear sliding from the corner of his own eye.

 

Scott was back as the moisture rolled into the pillow case, offering a cup and straw. Virgil happily took a few sips, gently clearing the dust from his vocal cords. There was only one thing he really wanted to know. “Where's Gordon?”

 

“Right here.” Alan was already gesturing back to the other bed, moving so that Virgil could get a good look. Gordon was out, the hospital blanket pulled up under his arms. This gave the medic a clear view of the bandages the covered multiple abrasions up the side of brother's face and left arm. He winced, wondering how his moderately vain brother would handle it. Bypassing those thoughts, he found the other arm, set in a cast up to his shoulder. The tire. Must have shattered it. Man… it must've hurt like hell. Any other injuries were hidden by the stark, white sheets.

 

Scott intercepted his question before he could ask. “Doc says he'll heal pretty quickly. Surgery went well. The arm shouldn't be too much of a bother in about six months.” His blue eyes grew haunted as he moved on. “He took a pretty big hit. Busted a few ribs, tore ligaments, fractured his hip. He was already a hodgepodge of surgical elements, what's a few more peices.” Only, it wasn't said in jest. Scott was mad. If he didn't know his brother like he did, Virgil would have assumed this was aimed at him. No, this was his brother being mad at the situation. Wishing above all else that he could take the pain that would follow over the next few months away from his brothers.

 

Virgil found he felt the same. Even though he had his own newly repaired piercing to deal with, he couldn't fathom seeing the blonde so still. “Has he woken up?”

 

Scott shook his head. “It might take a while. His skull took a pretty good whack too. Right now, he's just sleeping until the rest of the swelling goes down.”

 

That sounded terrible, if he were being honest. And once more, the guilt began its creeping ascent into his mind. His idea. His plan. His fault. Virgil found himself unable to look at his brothers anymore, eyes stinging with the tears brimming under his lids.

 

“Virge?” Alan asked, sounding worried.

 

“Sorry.” He quickly covered his face with his hands. Whether it was the overwhelming emotions or the medications, he couldn't stop the flow as the tears began to fall under his fingertips. “I'm so sorry.”

 

Virgil couldn't see, but he was certain it was Scott who placed a hand on his shoulder, giving the trembling arm a gentle squeeze. “Virgil there's nothing to be sorry for. You've been through a lot.”

 

No, not what was wrong. “No. This was all my fault. We shouldn't have been out there in the first place. Why did I have to suggest something so stupid?”

 

A tired sigh and Scott was talking again. “It wasn't your fault, Virgil. You weren't out there actually trying to chase a storm. It just happened. You both needed a break and it was a logical choice. And I promise, if we thought it was a stupid idea, we wouldn't have let you two go. If we're playing the blame game, then it's on all of us.” The stern, no-arguing voice that his big brother used for situations similar to this one left no room for argument, his brow raising as Virgil opened his mouth to attempt. He still felt terrible. He probably would for the next six months or more, but for now, he would concede, keeping his eyes covered with his forearm as he waited for the tears to stop.

 

“Get some rest, bro.” His voice had softened. “We'll wake you if anything changes with Gordon.”

 

Somehow, Scott always seemed to know just what he needed. How he did it, Virgil wasn't entirely sure, but he was grateful, already wiping away the moisture as his eyes began to drift shut. He didn't dare say anything, not trusting his voice, but at the reassuring pat on his arm, he nodded, slowly letting the noises from the hospital lul him back to sleep.

 

OoOoOoO

 

Virgil found Gordon sitting in his favorite lounger at the end of the patio, staring out at the waves below and listening to the sounds of the ocean mix with the island wildlife. He was fiddling with the straw that sat in a half consumed smoothie. A request that had been mangled by Grandma, but consumed to make her feel as though she were making his day. Virgil knew the trick simply because he'd been employing it himself. They were stuck, imprisoned on an island of brothers who loved them, a woman who would give them the world, and friends who tried to keep them all from going crazy.

 

“Need help finishing that?” That earned him an amused grin, the cup making its way over lile a grenade Virgil would happily lay on if it meant giving Gordon a reprieve. He took the lounger next to his brothers, wincing as he bent to sit, slowly swinging his legs up, one at a time. He finally sank into the moderately comfortable slats in the backing, following his brother's gaze over the ocean. He mindlessly took a sip of the dark red mixture, his face screwing up at the odd combination of fruits and vegetables.

 

“Nice, right?” Gordon grinned, enjoying the torment a bit too much. “You get the hints of strawberry and banana with the nuttiness of the almonds, followed immediately by the canned beets.”

 

“Why?” Virgil set the drink down, rightfully disgusted. “Just stop at the almonds and it would've been fine.”

 

“Ya, but you know Grandma. Got make it her own.” He absently scratched under the rim of the cast, face scrunched in irritation. The cast itself was bright yellow, covered in scribbles and doodles of bored brothers. Mainly Gordon himself. Virgil had managed a pretty decent shark that looked like it had engulfed most of the arm, up to the elbow.

 

The guilt began to surface with each itch, but the apology died in his mouth before he could blurt it out. They had already hashed everything out. No one was to blame. It was an accident, and everytime Virgil would try to argue, they go over it again. Gordon had been the one to break him of the habit, threatening to throw himself into the pool if he tried to apologize again. Then that would absolutely be his fault.

 

“I'll cook lunch.” The offer slipped out, taking the place of the apology.

 

Gordon just raised a brow and asked, “You up for that?”

 

“It's spaghetti.” He smiled at the approving look from the blonde. “How difficult could it be?”

 

“Need any help?” Now, that was a question that had surfaced on more occasions than Virgil would have liked. The answer was usually “no”, but with Gordon's ability to hobble around the house, it was difficult keeping him out of the areas. Virgil still felt bad in that aspect. His brother was bored and they weren't allowed to let him do anything more than sit and watch.

 

For once, he decided to throw Gordon some slack. “You can cook the noodles.”

 

“Great!” He was grinning ear to ear. I'll try not to add anything too weird.”

 

“Weird?” Virgil asked, cautiously.

 

The glint of mischief was in the amber eyes, making him wonder if this was a mistake. But, as the mid morning sun caught the side of his face, making him glow in its brilliance, it was like nature telling him he could have his little brother back, whole in spirit if not in body… yet. That would be the next challenge two months from now. He couldn't wait.

 

As they settled back into the peace of just being alive, they watched the waves, gentle and calm. Void of any storms that might threaten to add more time to their medical leave.  This was their eye. Their center until they were cleared for duty. They would enjoy every minute of it, ready and waiting for what life threw at them next.

  
  



End file.
